


The Ruination of Wade Wilson

by Princess_Breetlejuice



Series: Dangerous, Insane, and Consensual [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Altered States, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Blood, Body Horror, Bottom!Wade, Cannibalism, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Feral!Peter, Fluff, Heavy Masochism, Heavy Sadism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochist!Wade, Oral Sex, Primal!Peter, Sadist!Peter, Self sacrificing Wade, Self-Cannibalism, Somewhat Graphic Gore, Submissive!Wade, Undernegotiated Kink, Vore, Wade dies a lot, dominant!peter, involuntary self-cannibalism, primal, so much blood, stalkerish!Wade, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Breetlejuice/pseuds/Princess_Breetlejuice
Summary: Spiderman’s mutation has a sinister side that he had steadfastly been ignoring. It’s comes to a head and Wade takes the brunt of it, to gruesome ends.A surprisingly heartwarming story about cannibalism and dismemberment.Read the tags.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Dangerous, Insane, and Consensual [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857283
Comments: 63
Kudos: 370





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags. If the first chapter is too much, then do not read the second chapter. It's fucked up, it's kinky, these bitches ain't ever heard of RACK.  
> For context, I wanted to explore what it would be like to play with someone who cannot die and essentially has no limits. Wade is nearly obsessive with Peter and would take anything from him. It plays around with characters that have unhealthy relationships with themselves, but healthy relationships with each other.

Wade knew a few things about Spiderman:

1\. He was barely a man, in the eyes of the good ol’ US of A. Couldn’t drink, but could vote, smoke, and fuck. Wade sometimes got stuck on the last part.

2\. He knew Spiderman was Peter Parker. He could keep a secret better than most would give him credit for. Wade wanted to keep an eye out in case ‘Peter Parker’ was ever whispered about in merc circles.

3\. Spiderman didn’t know Wade knew he was Peter Parker. There was nothing anyone could ever do to Wade to make him spill, so Wade couldn’t justify making him worry about it. Peter was extremely protective over his identity. Wade would give him the illusion that it was intact until such a time that he may need to expose it for inevitable plot reasons.

4\. There was something wrong with him that he wasn’t talking about. He wasn't talking to Wade, or his few civilian friends, or his billionaire sugar daddy, or the aging vestige of family he had left.

Wade was no therapist and had no illusions that he likely needed one. It was obvious to even a damaged and deranged idiot like him could figure that Peter needed one. Peter grew up too fast with the world on his shoulders. Too much grief shoved under the immense responsibilities he took on. Anyone would crack under that kind of pressure.

Wade had seen the newspaper reports, the graves that he wept upon. He noticed the distant, glazed over expression when he was just another face in the crowd. He recognized that face in the mirrors, most days, but he could handle it better when it was on his ugly mug. Seeing it on Peter was like watching a sparrow flutter around with a broken wing.

Wade had one last selfless bone in his body that was turned onto Peter. He did his best to make Peter’s life better, with mixed results. During finals week, he broke into his apartment and slipped a few packets of ramen and a fresh carton of milk.  
While Wade had matched brands and position, Peter still had doubted his own memory and sanity. Without a better explanation, he accepted the clandestine gifts without much struggle. A little well intentioned gaslighting never hurt anyone, did it?

He decided to invite himself over to the Jameson family dinner to discuss the patriarch’s Spiderman obsession. It happened to be more of a business dinner, so luckily, no children or young adults were scarred in the making of his message. Unfortunately, The Daily Bugle Facebook page published an exaggerated rant about the occasion. That rant had gone viral. Wade had insisted that, while he was also a man in a red costume, he was not Spiderman. He also emphasized that this discussion should stay between them. Jameson proclaimed that Spiderman had threatened his family and business associates. Deadpool’s verified Twitter commented that he did not approve of Jameson making the matter public. This forced The Daily Bugle to redact the rant, and post a more accurate story to its feed. Peter saw the post, of course, and didn’t speak to Wade for a few weeks.

There were subtweets on Spiderman’s twitter about freedom of the press. While he didn’t agree with what the misinformation the media spread about him, he would never limit anyone’s ability to speak. Stark had his team help with the PR spin on that one, and they improved Spiderman’s image for a while. Wade wasn’t sure if he was actually sorry about that one. It was a net gain, even if Peter didn’t see it that way.

Another time, he walked in front of Peter, all incognito-like, ‘accidentally’ dropped a fifty dollar bill, and booked it like a bat outta hell. Once he was a safe distance and had the high ground, he was immediately disappointed. Peter, sweet sweet Peter, was looking around and asking passers by if they dropped the bill. No one took it, probably thinking it was a scam or something. Instead of pocketing it, like anyone else would, he took it over to the police station and turned it in. He was a sweet boy, but didn’t know how to take a good thing when it came to him. Out of principle, Wade went to the station, gave them details on where and when he lost the money, and got it back. He didn’t need it, but he was going to get this money to Peter, one way or another.

He proceeded to feed his Spidey at every opportunity. A few times a week, he’d track him down at lulls in the patrol or as he was getting ready to turn in with some variety of take out. It didn’t take him long to learn he liked his burgers (cheese, onions, tomatoes, and mustard), his tacos (too much sour cream), and his pizza ( pineapple and olives). He even knew which little run down Chinese restaurant he preferred. Peter would eat any free food, but he was extra appreciative when Wade remembered his order.

Most recently, he’d paid Peter’s rent for the rest of the lease at his shitty little apartment. While the merc had been watching him, he’d noticed he was a little forgetful about paying rent. He’d only remember to pay it when he got the monthly reminder from the landlady. With this intel, Wade stuffed an envelope with enough cash for the year and Peter’s apartment number and dropped it in the landlady’s mailbox. He hoped she was an honest gal. If she wasn't, she could take the money and claim she never got it. She did seem honest, though, and the next month, the letter never came and Peter was too busy to notice. He might notice eventually, but Wade hoped he would stay oblivious and accept his help.

Wade couldn’t make it all better. He could feed and water his spider, watch his back, and protect him with every undying cell in his body. He could do all this, but he couldn’t make him deal with the issues bubbling under the surface. He was unraveling; only kept together with a thin veneer of sanity.

But one night, oh, he didn’t know what it was about this night, but this night Peter divulged some enticing intel.

It had been a slow night, too cold for random street criminals, and Deadpool was back in town for a while. He was hesitant to take jobs that would take him from his post. He’d gotten Peter’s favorite sweet and sour chicken from Maggie’s, a couple root beers, and a slice of cheesecake in an egg roll bag.

He’d found his little spider, taking some selfies to upload to his twitter. His official twitter was run through Friday and Karen first, to make sure he didn’t give anything personal away. .

Wade had been chatting, filling any silence in a way only he could. Peter didn’t have much to say, seemed worn down and pent up with… something.

He interrupted Wade in the middle of talking about his predictions of zombies vs unicorn army. “Do you miss being more," he trailed off, a little surprised with himself that he had started speaking. “You haven’t been as violent.”

“Been doin’ my best to be a boy scout, nowadays. Body count is way down. Got a gold star on my report card from Shield and everything. Wanna see it?”

“Nah, I know you have been.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I was wondering what you do about your,” the words trickled out as Peter meticulously selected each one, “urges. You used to be so vicious. What do you do to stop all that?” He gestured circularly with his hands, as if that finished up the thought.

This was not a conversation Wade had expected to have today, or any day. “They are still there, baby boy-,” he began.

“I know,” he responded quickly. A little too quickly. “I know, but you are doing a lot better.” He offered a little reassuring smile before he dug into his rice again.

“I’m trying my best, honest. No cheat days or anything. Okay, you can’t count some of what Shield has me do. Government assigned murder is called assassination. We aren’t counting it as cheating on my no-kill diet.”

“I’m not crazy about what Shield has you do on missions. I’m still wary about Hydra, after all this time.” Wade imagined what Peter’s face would look like, if he took his mask off. He could only imagine how weary his eyes looked, based on how raw he sounded. “But, yeah. You are doing a lot better. Do you miss it?”

Deadpool got a flash of heat, blood, power. The rush was instant. He would never be able to forget the thrill of being the blood thirsty beast he knew he was at heart. “Uh, yeah. Sometimes.” It was intoxicating, but he didn’t miss the sleepless nights where he replayed their faces in his head. He often wondered if those hits deserved it after all. He didn’t mind being a tool, where the death was ordered in a formal, curated brief. He was pointed in the right direction and told to shoot/stab/maim/kill. He could blame the faceless organization if they had targeted an innocent civilian. It wasn’t the same as merc jobs. Merc jobs forced him to take accountability.

“What do you do so you don’t cheat on your diet?”

“Oh, you wanna hear about Deadpool’s family recipe for coping mechanisms to murderous intent?” He leaned towards him, keeping the smile in his voice, trying to keep his tone light and jovial.

Peter paused, evaluating if this was what he wanted to talk to Deadpool about. With a hesitant nod, he affirmed, “I think so.”

That spoke volumes. He knew one more thing about Spiderman, and he was going to figure out what to do with this information later. “Uh, I punch a wall. I jump off a building.” He wasn’t about to add that he did that without a bungee cord or parachute. “I hire a dominatrix, or a dominant,” it depended on whatever worker was willing to take him on, he wasn’t picky on gender. “To have them fuck up my shit until I hurt too much to want to hurt anyone else. Was that TMI? That was probably TMI. Well, I’m already this deep. I also beat up the trouser snake into submission. Al ain’t crazy about that one. She got some ears on her, the old bat. The behaving thing, it’s hard some days, man. I’ve stabbed my hand into a table to stop myself from doing some old fashioned un-aliving. It kinda helped, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you got my healing factor. I guess I could recommend it to Wolvie, but who knows if he’s still kicking around this timeline. Al doesn’t like that one either, though. Says it makes the apartment furniture too sticky for her sensitive constitution.” He could tell his friend wasn’t completely paying attention to his rambling. “And why are you curious about this?”

The question hit the hero like he hoped it would. It took far too long for him to stammer out, “A-a friend. Just a guy who said he was having a hard time. And I thought you might have some tips?”

Wade hummed and let his spider feel his skepticism. “And is this guy a hero?”

“He’s kind of a… vigilante.”

“I could always talk to this vigilante.” He would never make this offer unless he was at least 85% sure there was no other guy. “Pick my brain. We could make a plan of attack. Suggest a good pro-dom or pro-sub.”

“There are pro-subs? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh boy, sex work is a wide and diverse field. I’ve never hired one, I dunno how it works. I’ve thought about it, but the thought of hurting a pretty defenseless little thing doesn’t get me in the same way.”

“Yeah, it would be hard to take it out on someone who doesn’t deserve it, I guess.” He reached his hand under his mask to scratch at his hair and shrugged.

“Maybe if you knew the sub wanted it, it wouldn’t feel so wrong.”

“I’ll talk to my friend about it. He’s really embarrassed about this stuff.” He changed the subject after that.

****

5\. Peter Parker, the most precious cinnamon bun in the entire multiverse, had some murderous rage coursing through his twinkalicious veins.

Wade had no idea that this was what was weighing on his mind, but he wasn’t surprised. Mix a relentless sense of justice with a chaotic unjust world and that was bound to go as well as shit meeting fan. How many criminals had he seen on the street, over and over again? How many guilty had gone free, how many lives had he been too late to save? How many cries that his heroism just wasn’t good enough? How many times had he told himself that he wasn’t good enough?

Deadpool had ways of dealing with those things, which was largely to act in his own self interest. Except when it came to his Petey. He would do anything to make him laugh and keep him safe. Just things one bro would do for another bro.

So Spider-babe was on the cusp of his turn to the dark side. If he did, maybe Wade could go back to being the merc he was before. Maybe he would have a sidekick to bathe in blood with and wallow in hedonistic violence. He could see his Peter, a little darker and freer, using his talents to pursue his grim desires. What would he be like when he’d thrown out his idealism and undone his restraints? Probably beautiful and horrific, he had no doubt. It made his heart ache and his dick twitch.

Something in him didn’t want to let Peter fall. The gilded memories of his murderous past had tarnished with time and trauma. He didn’t want that life for either of them, no matter how much he missed it. He resolved to do whatever was necessary to work through his urges and keep them on the hero path. That required a lot of surveillance and Wade groaned at the pure boredom that would ensue.

Maximum effort wasn’t always as exciting as his movies made it seem. 

****

Shield was notified that he was available for short missions until further notice. They weren’t happy they could only use him for up to three days at a time, but they were beholden to his whims. An immortal, morally grey killer didn’t slip into your pockets every day and Shield couldn’t afford to lose him.

It had been a few months since Deadpool had set himself to stalking his boy and he got back into the rhythm. He left him alone during classes, nothing much happened that was worth note. He had his schedule set on his PDA and lived by the beeps on that little outdated piece of tech.

Pete was falling apart. In the next week, he had: woken up late for classes twice, skipped a class, skipped lunch most days, and picked at his food when Deadpool tried to feed him. The bags under his eyes were heavier and his face looked thinner. Wade realized that Pete had been losing weight for a while. He could count more ribs and he hadn’t eaten as voraciously as he had before. He thought he was tuned to any changes in Peter’s mental/physical state. He had missed a few things and Peter was worse than he had thought.

He even caught him doing something on a roof. He wasn’t close enough to tell what he was doing, exactly, but he was crouching with his arms around his legs in the rain. That had to be dreadful on his knees while he held the position. He remained unflinching while the drizzle turned into a downpour around him.

Pete hadn’t sought any help since he’d started tracking him. He wasn’t taking any of his aggression out on criminals and hadn’t talked to anyone else. He wasn’t spending time with his small civilian or professional network and wasn’t even masturbating very much. He looked like he tried getting off a time or two, but got frustrated and either didn’t finish or had a very unsatisfying end. He might have orgasmed once but he looked disappointed by it. He didn’t try going to a dungeon or hire sex worker, despite the interest he expressed. He was getting more and more pent up with no meaningful outlet.

It had him so concerned that Wade was considering calling Stark or Xavier. Pete didn’t know Xavier, but Xavier might know what to do with an unstable super? Maybe he could pair him with someone else who had similar problems and had dealt with them? Spiderman was on the brink of being dangerous to himself or others and Wade felt like he was low on options.

That’s why he was exceptionally concerned when Peter’s routine broke. It was a Tuesday, which meant he started his patrol later. He stopped his patrol a few hours early and even ignored a police siren. Abruptly, he started moving with a single-minded focus away from the city. When the buildings got too low for swinging, he took to running across rooftops. When he ran out of rooftops, he took to the roads.

Wade had commandeered a bicycle along the way because there was no way he could keep up on foot. He wasn’t prepared for the hour long sprint. He wished he had taken a motorcycle, even if it was too loud for tracking at that time of night, in low traffic areas. If Pete had been in a normal state of mind, he would have noticed Wade’s tail miles ago, but he was stuck in a dark place that told him to get far away from everyone.

He was exhausted when they got to their destination and he spent a few minutes on the gravel road praying for death. His heart felt like it was going to explode and it took forever for his healing factor to kick in.

Peter had taken them to a decrepit building on the outskirts of the city. It could have been an abandoned hospital that nature had begun to reclaim. Wade didn’t know if Peter had come here before, or if he had run until he was isolated enough.

After a brief pause, presumably to get his own breath under control, Peter pulled a pretty solid Footloose impression. It was less dance-y and way way more destructive than Mr. Bacon. He started with the rusty doors, pasted over in ‘Condemned’ posters. He ripped them right off the hinges and rammed them into the ground. He picked it back up, rotated it, and slammed it into the ground again and again until it lost its shape. It had to have been over an inch thick and it crumpled like paper. Once it was an amorphous blob, he punched it into a crater for good measure. Then, he heaved the mangled mass over his head and tossed it into the surrounding trees. It took good, long seconds for it to crash land well out of sight.

Wade was not sure what the door did to Peter to deserve such treatment, but he felt like it was somehow responsible for Peter’s entire tragic backstory.

The hero had run into the building, not through the door he had just opened, but through the wall. As the wall crumbled behind him, he seemed frustrated that it had fallen way without a fight. He set to punishing the rest of the wall for its weakness.

Once he’d well and truly taught the building entrance its lesson, he leapt further into the structure. Wade crept through the front lawn and saw what he was dreading. His baby boy was bashing his head into the floorboards, so tormented that he needed to smash the thoughts out of his head.

Wade was not thrilled to contemplate what interruption would entail for his bodily integrity, but he knew Peter was set to self-destruct. Wade couldn’t let him handle it alone.

*****

The Spider did not have prey. He was so hungry for the chase, the fight, the submission. Everything was too soft, falling apart under his touch. Nothing was satisfying to destroy. Metal did not wail or bleed. Stone did not ease the itchiness under his skin or the pervasive sense of wrongness. Nothing he had done could make it go away.

But his prey came running to him, begging to be his. The spider rose from his place on the floor and took a long look at his prey, licking his lips in anticipation. His lips tasted metallic, like a promise. His prey was all in one piece, healthy, juicy, delicious. What wondrous things he could do to that body. His prey was saying things to him, but the words didn’t hold much meaning. The spider was waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

He launched himself at his prey, tackling him to the ground and cocooning him before he could be surprised. “Pretty prey,” he murmured in adoration. His prey looked so perfect in his webs and he was overwhelmed by his sudden infatuation with him. Prey couldn’t escape. Prey wouldn’t leave. Prey was his. Even if he hadn’t captured him in his web, he felt that this one had always belonged to him. “Mine.”

“Yours, yours,” his prey affirmed, and it made the spider preen. “Just don’t choke or suffocate me, Pete.”

‘Pete’ didn’t sound right. He shouldn’t be calling him that. “Sir,” the spider demanded.

“Sir, Sir. Yes, Sir, I can’t handle oxygen deprivation.” The spider hardly thought prey had room to make demands. “Please, you can do anything you want to me. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Beg me.”

“Please please, pretty please will you let me breath, while I’m alive. I’ll be so good for you, so good for you. I’ll be good prey, Pete-”

The spider smacked the prey’s face and ground his face into the floor, growling threateningly, “Sir.”

He didn’t know why the prey didn’t reply right away. He was a lot more limp now, so still. The spider had broken his prey’s neck. But, like a good prey, he didn’t die for long and was ready to play with him again.

It took his prey a few seconds to twitch and he gasped out, “Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I - I didn’t mean to. I’ll remember.”

He could hear the panic and fear in his voice, but couldn’t see it on his face. No crying? No tears? Not even a frown? Such a blank expression didn’t suit his prey, he wanted to see everything.

Ah, a mask. His prey was wearing a mask. Not bothering to look for the seam, he grabbed some of the slack around the neck and ripped it. There, his prey’s skin was finally exposed, though it was only some area around his neck and chin. He was overwhelmed by his prey’s smell, so much that it dampened his frustration that someone had marked his prey first. His prey was walking around with the scars of another, flaunting how someone had gotten to his prey first.

He tore more of the mask away, more and more enraged when the scares marred every new piece of flesh. He could see his mottled skin, quivering lips, determined eyes. “What is this?” he hissed threateningly as he gouged his nail into his prey’s cheek.

“I told you you didn’t want to see under the mask. It’s bad business. I’m much prettier in the sui-”

“NO.” He punched his prey’s shoulder, shattering the bones, while maintaining eye contact. That was not the answer he wanted. The violence was so fast, his prey didn’t have time to hold it in the scream. His whole body jerked and flinched, his eyes watered, a grimace consumed his expression. His pain was like a balm to the spider’s anger. “Mine,” he reaffirmed, trying to be patient. He took a moment to lick at a falling tear.

“Yours, Sir,” he whimpered.

Deceptively calm, deceptively coherent, he growled, “Who gave you these marks?”

When he hesitated, the predator dug his fingers into his mangled shoulder. “Someone who is dead, Sir,” he moaned. 

“Do you belong to them?”

“Never.”

“Whose prey are you?”

***

“Yours, Sir,” Wade repeated, like he had said it countless times before. As he slipped down in his mind to a special place, his eyes glazed over and he became less present. It was somewhere softer, where he was more complacent and malleable. Like this, he could take the role and whatever Peter made him take. He knew how this worked and how to get there, even if there was usually a fuckload more negotiation first.

“Yes, Sir,” and “Yours, Sir,” and “Please, Sir.” was something he could do. He could take whatever Peter wanted to dish out a thousand times over if it would quell his demons. It would never be permanent, he’d make it out on the other side, with a more stable companion at the end.

In the meantime, he could pretend that he belonged to Peter. He found he liked that idea and he hadn’t let himself think about that possibility before. He could fantasize that he was Peter’s to beat, abuse, and cherish. If he was going through so much for the sake of his friend, surely he could have his pain steadied with the thought that he belonged to Peter.

It was easier if he imagined that he was a beloved toy. He might even enjoy it if he pretended to be owned so that he could handle what was to come.

His only hope was that Peter didn’t leave him here, webbed up, bloody, and alone, when he was done with him. That might break him in a way that Peter’s violence never could.


	2. Chapter 2

The Spider gave way to Peter a few hours later, and Peter wished he didn’t have memory of what he had done. He was stunned for a moment as he sat down, gloveless, maskless, and covered in every shade of dried and drying blood.

He felt the satisfying weight of a full stomach, nearly close to bursting. He didn’t want to think about what he ate but he knew. He was disgusted with himself and what he had eaten, but part of him wanted to keep his prey inside of him. He couldn’t gather the will to expel it, since his body seemed uninclined to do it itself.

Wade was suspended from the ceiling from his ankles. Ankle. He was missing one leg, and one of his forearms. His suit was mostly in shreds, the ravaged remains doing little to cover the form he was so self conscious about. He was actively bleeding from a hole in his side, but his healing factor was working on it. The other wounds had a layer of skin holding him together. He was too many colors; sickly yellows to pitch black swatches painting his skin.

Wade rotated back and forth ever so gently from his bondage. His eyes were open, but glazed and blinking inconsistently. He was alive and awake, though in shock. His lips were parted and almost blue. 

Peter couldn’t look away but couldn’t bear to look. He took it in and tried to reconcile his actions with the person he thought he was. He had killed someone he was starting to seriously care about. Wade hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d shown up at the wrong time and suffered torture at his hands. It didn’t matter that Wade would always come back. He didn’t deserve it. No one deserved what he did. 

He snapped out of his inaction and channeled his first responder instincts. They needed to get out of here and Peter needed help to sort this out.

He reactivated Karan and waited to hear her reboot. Instead of her usual greeting, she said, “I can tell you are in distress. Do I need to call someone?”

His throat was so dry. “Tony,” he asked simply. He figured Tony was probably awake at this absurd hour and expected him to answer even if he wasn’t. Despite Tony’s reputation, he was extremely reliable when he was in need. 

Wade’s eyes lulled towards him at the sound of his voice, but didn’t quite land on him.

Karan worked her magic and he was connected a few moments later. “Hey kid, what’s up?” 

He cleared his throat. “Mr. Stark. I’ve done something really bad.” His voice cracked, but he recovered. “I’ll explain later but I can’t tell you now. I need a forensic cleaning team.” 

“Jesus, kid-“

“Not right now,” he snapped. “Later, I promise. Just please, I need your help.” Later was a time where he had an explanation for what happened, because he couldn’t wrap his head around what he just did. He didn’t know who that person was and how to put words to his actions. He would be sure to tell Tony everything as soon as he figured it out. That was a problem for a future time. When Tony didn’t interrupt again, he continued, “I need a car to take me and my friend to the tower. The car needs blankets, food, and water. Food like applesauce and protein bars. Anything easy. There should probably be tarps on the seats. I need my room at the tower and a clear path when the car gets there. Can you do that?”

“Did you kill someone?”

“I told you not to ask questions,” he growled before he could stop himself. “No. Well, yes, but no. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Ok, ok. I can do that. I need answers tomorrow, Peter, and they better be good.” 

Peter sighed in relief. “Thank you, thank you. I’m sorry I got you involved. I can’t get into it right now.”

“I’m trusting you. I have your location. I’m sending the car out now, it’ll be about half an hour to get it prepared and at your location. Give me a bit to get the rest sorted out.”

Peter takes this opportunity to cut Wade down and he feels remarkably guilty that he didn’t do that earlier. He grabbed him in the least bruised spot, tore him from the ceiling, and laid him down on the floor. Then, he untangled the bindings and left them in a pile off to the side. He gently, gently squeezed blood back into his hands. They were freezing and an unnatural color, but the massage was helping. 

For a second, Wade seemed to wake up. He looked squarely at his torturer and smiled. It was so blatantly adoring that Peter almost cried. He nuzzled into Peter’s side and nearly purred. When a simple touch seemed comforting, he increased the contact until Wade was on his lap, wrapped in him completely. His friend was a frigid lump. He burrowed into Peter’s shoulder while Peter awkwardly stroked his back. Once he was comfortable, which was apparently as close to Peter as possible without merging into one, he went limp again with a blissful sigh.

Peter let his head drop back and stared at the arterial spray on the ceiling. It was painted in a stippled, graceful arch.

“I can’t get a hold of any cleaners right now,” Tony interrupted. “Usually SHIELD handles this stuff, but I’m guessing you don’t want that. We won’t be able to get private contractors out until this afternoon. There are 24 hour response teams but legal is going to delay this. I’m pushing it through as fast as I can. Hawkeye’s heading out to secure the area until then.” 

Hawkeye was one of the last people he wanted to be involved in this. He and Deadpool were colleges, and Clint and Wade were possibly friends. It was a complication that he couldn’t handle right now. “I don’t want him-“

“You don’t get a choice. You are in an area with a lot of urban explorers. Ghost hunters. Hikers. There are nature trails near it that have high traffic. Hawkeye will keep people away until we take care of this.” 

It made sense, as much as he didn’t want it to. No civilian needed to see the horror scene he created. “Fine, I get it.”

“He’s going in the car. I’m sending the tracking to Karen now. Mask on for the driver.”

“Got it, thank you.”

“Talk tomorrow.” Tony hung up quickly. The beep was satisfying, like the situation was being handled and he could take his mind out of mission mode.

It was quiet again and all that was left was to wait. He held his friend, stared webs swaying from the ceiling, and begged the car to hurry.

***  
“The car is arriving,” Karen supplied. 

Peter slid his mask on. He had debated how to transport Wade into the car. Should he leave Wade on the floor, grab the blankets, then return to the car? He could preserve his privacy that way, but he was hesitant to leave him, even for a moment. Wade was calm in his hands, how could he leave him alone?

He carefully maneuvered them both to a standing position and walked outside. Wade was held protectively, to limit the amount of skin on display. Wade deserved his dignity and privacy preserved the best he could given the circumstances. 

A black limo pulled up, way too flashy for this desolate place, but it would have enough room for Wade to stretch out. 

Hawkeye hopped out of the front passenger seat, clutching a thermos and a lunch bag, his bow strapped over his shoulder. He was probably conversing with the driver while he woke up, not one to sit back and enjoy a leisurely limo ride. 

“Yo spider boy, watcha got there - oh god. What the fuck happened to Deadpool?” He grabbed his bow and had an arrow cocked in less than a second while he frantically surveyed the scene for the perpetrators. “Are they still here?”

“I - I - I - I-“ the record was skipping. “I did it. There’s no one else.” Having to say it out loud sent hot coils of shame around his chest. 

Clint was at a loss for words and Wade lulled his head to the side to see their visitor. “Birdie! Pretty birdie,” the merc cooed quietly. “Gonna shoot all the arrows,” before devolving into a fit of giggles.

“What the fuck happened? Did you drug him?”

Obviously Tony did not pass on his request for no questions. “No, I didn’t. It’s a long story and I can’t get into it right now.”

Clint crossed his arms and looked at Peter in a way that reminded him that Hawkeye used to be a merc, too.“He’s missing a fucking arm. I know he’s annoying sometimes, but Jesus.”

He bristled that Clint would even hint that Wade could have done anything to deserve this. Wade wasn’t annoying. Just, excitable? Exuberant? Prone to tangents and flights of fancy? “It’s not that. It wasn’t his fault. Just, I need to take care of him now. Can I go?”

“Are you the right person to do that?” He situated his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver. 

Peter shrugged and chose not to respond because no, he probably wasn’t the right person, but he wouldn’t let anyone take Wade from him. “Can you get the door?”

Clint sent him a solid, cold eye, before acquiescing. Peter gently, yet quickly, positioned Wade in the seat and slid in after him. “I’ll talk to him when he’s back,” Hawkeye promised as he shut the door. The tone said he was disturbed by the situation, but was withholding judgement. Not much, though. 

Alone again, Peter relaxed a bit. Clint’s arrival could have gone better, could have gone worse. He was counting on losing the friendship with Wade and he was probably going to lose the professional respect from Hawkeye. Another casualty of his loss of control. The social and professional outcomes for this could be nuclear, if it became well known in the super communities. No one wanted to partner with a kid with too much strength and not enough restraint.

He pulled at the remnants of Wade’s suit, trying to avoid pressure around the sore looking spots. There were a number of places that had partially consumed some leather in its healing. When he worked it out of his skin, Wade whimpered, simultaneously pulling away and burrowing deeper into his touch. It took longer than he would have liked to stop his body from healing over the uniform and Wade’s whining was getting louder. He hated doing it, but he remembered Wade complaining about having to dig random shit out of his skin because of his aggressive healing factor. It seemed it was less painful for fragments to be removed than for the skin to expel them on its own. 

“Nooo,” the injured merc moaned, “I thought we’re done, Sir.” 

“Shh, not sir, just Spidey. We are done, no more.” He couldn’t help the tear that snuck out, 

“Hurts,” he mumbled.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’ll feel better when we have you cleaned up, yeah?”

Soon, Wade was naked, save for a pair of boxers. Peter was endlessly thankful that Wade decided not to go commando, as he often exclaimed he did. It was a way Peter hadn’t violated him. 

He swaddled him in blankets, convinced him to eat a few bites of a granola bar, and drink a few sips of water. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, especially with the amount of regeneration he was doing. On a normal day, Wade would polish off a few pizzas for a lost limb. He could barely regenerate a toenail on a granola bar. 

Peter was concerned about how long Wade had been in shock. He’d been through a horribly traumatic, torturous episode at the hands of a friend. That would obviously put him in shock, but it would have to wear off eventually. And shock usually went a little differently: a lack of understanding of the situation, adrenaline rushes, confusion. This quiet, cuddly Wade seemed unbothered by what had happened to him. How amazing it was that this altered state could soothe his pain, and what a weird state it was. 

He kept his Wade burrito on his lap, tight against his chest, and listened to Wade's breathing, his heartbeat. It was so steady now, not like how it had been under his Spider’s reign. Countless times it had reached frantic, struggling highs, and sudden stops. His lungs had gurgled, filled with blood while he coughed it out of his nose and mouth. Peter had licked it off his lips, not wanting to waste a drop. He was a greedy, greedy man and had wanted every piece of him. 

***  
At the tower, Peter checked with Karen, “The way to my room is clear, right?”

“Give me one moment,” she replied, probably coordinating with Friday. After a beat, “It’s clear.”

The AI’s planning was perfect and they got to his room efficiently. She even advised him on a path he usually didn’t take, but was faster than his typical route. Still, it felt like it took forever and a day to trudge to his room. Wade’s weight felt heavier than it had any right to be, probably a sign of his bone tiredness. When he got to the room, he finally felt like rest was near. He just had a few more things he could do before he could end this horrible night. 

He set a blanket wrapped Wade on the bed, spending a few extra moments propping him perfectly on the pillows. Wade appeared to be asleep as soon as his body hit the bed. Peter collected a bowl from the kitchenette and brought it into the bathroom. He filled the bowl with water that was a little warmer than comfortable and washcloths. 

Back at his side, he started cleaning Wade’s face. He dabbed at the stains, worried that dragging the terry cloth would be irritating. Wade woke up at the feeling of the cloth, but didn’t seem to dislike the texture, pressure, or heat. 

As Peter cleaned him, Wade gazed at him sweetly, but Peter couldn’t stop seeing his face in gruesome contortions. How could he unsee Wade, his mouth gaping and tongueless, pinched in agony, blood dribbling onto his lips? He’d split Wade’s suit down the front when it had impeded the blood trail. He had taken such pleasure in how the blood had pooled in his mouth, then trailed over his sternum and over his abdominal muscles. 

Wade had kneeled still for him, not struggling against the webbing that kept his wrists behind his back. He shivered, groaning openly and gutterally. Peter had been able to take in the scene for as long as he wanted until his mouth stopped bleeding. 

But Wade’s tongue was back now and good as new. It was like it had never gone, never been wrenched from his throat to appease the part that demanded flesh; like he had never felt it’s weight slide down his throat. 

He moved the blanket aside to give him access to his throat. The left side of his neck was still mending and the skin hadn’t been rescarred yet, baby smooth. He supposed it was still sensitive, so he focused his efforts on the other side, but his gaze was drawn to the patch of clear skin. 

Back at the abandoned building, he’d wanted to drain him completely, so he had strung him up by his ankles. Part of him was logical enough to realize he could best accomplish his aims by inverting him. It was horrifying to think that Peter was there the entire time. He was there as he bit down Wade’s jugular and yanked out half of his throat. He had delighted in the flood that assaulted his senses: open mouthed, gagging on the rich, coppery smell, braced by one of Wade’s dying gasps. The wet, aromatic stickiness had matted Peter’s hair. 

He felt the dried blood pulling at his face, crusting on his eyelids, flaking off his cheeks, gluing his fingers together. The washcloth and warm water had finally loosened the chunks between his fingers, but he needed a shower before he went to sleep. 

Wade first, then Peter would allow himself that comfort. 

As he worked down further, less and less of the washcloth was left untainted. As he moved onto Wade's chest, he made sure to cover Wade's throat with a sheet, so he only had to look at one area at a time. He was a touch less careful, getting more eager to finish. Every moment he spent examining Wade’s body, he was remembering why it was in the state it was. 

He had forgotten what he had done to one of Wade’s arms and, when he pulled uncovered half grown forearm, he almost couldn’t continue his cleaning. And then again, it came back to him. 

First, he had pried off Wade’s fingers and made Wade eat them. Peter had said something like, “You try, you are delicious.” His fucked up mind made him think it was a kindness to share his prize. Wade had struggled on the first one, unsure of how to without a tongue. Peter punched him when it had fallen out of his mouth for rejecting his gift, then forced his mouth open and jammed the finger down his throat.

Wade never fought him, even with the repulsive things Peter forced on him. It was like he gave up and let Peter do whatever he wanted. With every thing Peter did, he got quieter and quieter, seemingly less responsive to pain. When he forced him to speak, the words took longer to form and were awkwardly shaped.

He broke Wade’s wrist forward, backward, left, right, and then it fell off. He did the same at his elbow. He ate as much of the meat as he wanted, broke his arm in half, and stabbed Wade with the protruding bone. Something similar happened to his leg.

By the time Peter had finished cleaning up his friend, he was barely able to hold back all of the emotions reliving the night had caused. He tucked Wade under a pile of blankets and stared at him for a long moment to make sure he was as ok. He seemed to be calm in his rest, at least for now. 

He ran to the bathroom like he was being chased while he dropped handfuls of his suit along the way. The suit felt like a million ants were trapped between it and his skin, and they were angry at their confinement. That suit wouldn’t be salvageable, but he couldn’t bear anything touching him a second longer. 

He shut the door quietly, and stripped until he was naked and alone in the well lit bathroom. 

“Friday, shower on. Hot as it’ll go. Highest pressure. All heads. Dim lights to 35 percent.” 

“For the safety of all Tower residents, water temperature cannot exceed 115 degrees fahrenheit.”

He didn’t know if that would be hot enough to satisfy him. What he really wanted was to burn all of his skin off; watch it slough onto the floor and down the drain. He probably couldn’t do that in 115 degree water and stopped himself from arguing with the AI about it. 

Peter caught himself in the mirror and couldn’t tear his eye away in time. His head, neck, and hands were rusty brown. His hair didn’t stick up the way it usually did after he took off his mask, solidly caked into place. Some part of him expected his eyes to be different. Maybe, after all that he’d done, he’d look like a different person. The same person stared at him in the mirror. He was still the scared boy who was in over his head. And now he had crossed boundaries he never knew he could cross. 

Like he had been broken from a trance, he flinched away from his reflection.

He hopped in the shower and, like he feared, it wasn’t hot enough to stop his thoughts. How could his hands, the hands that he dedicated to helping those who needed him, that rescued children out of burning buildings, that caught out of control trains, that hugged Aunt May, do such horrible things? He’d promised himself he would use his powers responsibly. For good. For the betterment of society. He’d promised to do no harm. He’d promised to do right with his unearned gifts. 

He had done so, so wrong. And he had liked it. He had participated in this sick, twisted shit and it gave him an erection. He had to admit, no man, woman, or fantasy had gotten him as hard as a screaming, shattered Wade. He’d stroked himself through his pants multiple times, just to take the edge off when it got too good. Especially when he tasted Wade’s flesh, that sensation was orgasmic. He could eat him three times a day, every day for the rest of his life. 

He hated how he had tasted ecstacy and he hated that he was mourning that he’d never get it again. He should be locked up and drugged up to his gills so that he’d never be able to hurt anyone else. After all this, he had to be honest with himself. 

Since the bite, he’d been having urges. It was obvious now that it was part of his mutation and he'd thought he had control over it. He had fooled himself into thinking that he had kept his Spider behind a wall and away from everyone else. The Spider tempted him every day, whispering sweet delights whenever he was alone with someone. That criminal that he had webbed against the wall? No one would miss him, take a chunk out of his throat and drain him. Ned was building legos in his room? Just bash his head in, listen to his heart stop beating, and take his time devouring him. 

And Wade. Wade was always hard to be around. Deadpool was a powerful presence and Peter immediately wanted him to yield. His Spider had claimed him and Peter was desperate to keep some distance. He kept his identity a secret, not because he didn’t trust Wade, but because he needed that boundary. He thought that if he let Wade in, it would make it harder to hold back. 

Wade brought out the sexual depravity in his Spider in a way no one else did. The Spider’s call to violence was never rooted in his libido. Other people made him hungry, thirsty, craving control and power over another’s life and pain. He wanted to pin Wade down, and show him the heights of pleasure and the depths of agony. He was surprised that his Spider finished without violating him in that way, too. Peter was just relieved that he didn’t have to add sexual assault to his list of crimes. 

All that holding back and careful restraint didn’t matter now. He thought he could manage that part of himself and he failed. He was a failure. He could barely breathe under the weight of his sins. 

He sat on the shower floor, letting the water wash away his crime. It took a long time for the water to run clear again and Peter made a token effort to scrub the rest of the blood off. He couldn’t convince his hands to move with intention and they ended up ineffectively rubbing at his skin. 

He could wash the blood off, but his hands would never be clean. He could never be free of the evils he committed. 

“Mr. Parker,” Friday said, interrupting his self loathing. “Your guest may need some assistance.”

Peter’s brain jumped to what that might mean and replied, “Shower off, thanks.”

“Of course,” she answered, but Peter wasn’t listening.

He kept out of the shower and barely covered himself with a towel. When the shower was turned off, he could hear what Friday had been alerting to: a deep, mournful wail. 

When he left the bathroom, he could be Wade sitting up, mouth agape, eyes wide and rimmed in sorrow. He was scratching at his arms and shaking violently. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, trying to be calming but sounding manic. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

He was shocked by Peter’s arrival and sobbed harder. The scratches turned into gashes and Peter didn’t know if he should stop him or let him continue. “I-I thought you left me. I thought you left me because I was a bad boy and you didn’t like me anymore.”

He floundered for the right thing to say, “No, no. Not a bad boy. You are a very good boy.”

Wade grabbed Peter and was wrapped around him completely, bending in ways a large man like him usually can’t to get impossibly more contact. He slotted their legs together and held him like he was afraid he’d leave. “Then why did you leave me all alone? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything. I needed a shower. I’m here now.”

“Don’t leave,” he begged. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” Peter promised, and he meant it. 

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be.”

“Please be here when I wake up,” he sobbed as he fell back asleep. 

Peter stayed exactly where Wade wanted him, but could not find the same rest. He stared at the ceiling and tried not to let the regret fester.

***  
Wade woke up toasty. It was a bit humid beneath the blankets, but he felt good and rested. His skin was calm, his restless mind was tranquil, and nothing hurt above the usual threshold. He felt the weight of a partner draped across him and, honestly, it was the best way he had woken up in a long time. He couldn’t remember how he got here and how he had convinced some sucker to stay the night, but he wasn’t going to question it. 

Skin to skin contact. When was the last time he had been touched without paying for it? And waking up to be held. He couldn’t remember who was holding him, but he could stay in their arms forever. If it was a hallucination, he wouldn’t mind languishing in this one forever.

“Are you awake?” a voice broke out into the silence. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, and pulled his companion closer. If he had convinced them to spend the night and they were already touching him, he figured they wouldn’t object to some more cuddles. They didn’t immediately object, so he figured it was fine. 

“Are you hungry?”

It was funny, he wasn’t until he thought about it. Then his contentment was interrupted by the pit in his stomach. It was the horribly aching hunger he got when he underwent significant healing. “Yeah, and like, really thirsty.” 

“Friday, can you have someone bring up the stuff. Have them leave it at the door.” 

A feminine, synthetic voice replied, “In route. It will be on your doorstep in 2 minutes.”

“I want to eat my weight in churros.”

“No churros, but ordered the biggest breakfast. You’ll be able to eat your weight in pancakes.”

He quickly fell into the conversation he’d had with Peter a million times, on habit more than anything. “None of that Mrs. Butterworth bullshit, right?”

“Maple syrup, as Canadian as I could find in New York.”

And then it hit him. It hit him that he was laying and cuddling in bed, snarking like it was normal, with Peter. It brought him out of his drowsy haze, straight down to earth. He disengaged from the contact and sat up, trying to remember what led to this. 

Peter reacted and shifted away from him. He sat as far away from him without leaving the bed. “I’m so sorry. I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but last night. I don’t know why, but you wanted me to be close to you.”

“I always want you close,” Wade said. He didn’t mean to sound that needy, but he was disoriented and confused. 

Peter huffed dryly. “I don’t know why you’d want me near you. I did inexcusable things to you. I can leave now and never be near you again.”

“No!” He shouted. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t really care right now.” He held his body, suddenly feeling a lot colder. “Can we just go back to cuddling? I liked that.”

The boy looked to be a mixture of hopeful and defeated. He climbed back up the bed and into his embrace. “I’ll go the minute you tell me to.”

“I won’t,” he mumbled, busy memorizing the scent at the base of Peter’s neck. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“It can’t be too bad if I don’t remember whatever it was.” He tried to lighten the mood a bit. His baby boy was bumming him out.

“Or it was so bad you are repressing.”

“Oh, look at Spidey over here, acting all therapist like. If you psychoanalyze me, you’ll be in for a bad time”

“I’m not trying-“

“Your food has arrived,” Friday chimed.

Peter raced to the door, escaping the conversation, and pushed two carts to the bed. They were stacked to the verge of toppling with everything he knew Wade loved: heaps of precariously stacked pancakes, the cheesiest omelettes, a few pounds of bacon and sausage, strawberry and Nutella crepes, hash browns overflowing with pepper and onions, and a huge pitcher of ice water, tastefully garnished with lemon and mint. It was a greasy wet dream for a starving antihero. 

Wade didn’t wait until Peter had returned with the second cart. He was already piling bacon into his mouth, stuffing it in like he didn’t have a gag reflex . He grabbed the water pitcher and gulped half of it down. Not all of it made it in his mouth, but that didn’t matter. It took the plate of sausage and an omelette to shake him out of his food focused mania. He wasn’t full, just not imminently starving. 

It was then he noticed that Peter was not partaking in this majestic bounty. “You don’t want any?” he asked with his mouth full and pieces of egg flying. 

“I’m not hungry,” he answered, crossing his arms over his stomach.

“You are always hungry, though.”

“I’m not right now. This is all for you”

“I know you don’t eat enough. When was the last time you ate?”

Peter froze. His mouth opened and closed. It was like he was debating if it would be better to lie or tell the truth. He was too honest for his own good. “Last night.”

It was a combination of things that sparked Wade’s memory. The way Peter’s words slid into place, the way he sucked on his lip, the flash of the same hungry look he had when Wade moans while he ate. In his mind, he saw Peter’s face drenched in blood while his tongue swiped it off his lip. They unlocked the previous night’s events. It brought forth a lot of feelings.

He stopped his feast mid bite. It had been a lot. It had been overwhelming and excruciating, but unexpected. He had fallen under Peter’s will, as involuntary as it had been, and Peter was a natural. It was more than he had ever taken, in a scene context, but he never pushed him too far. Wade was ready to please and Peter took frequent breaks to admire Wade’s broken form. It was like Wade was a work of art that Peter was attentively sculpting. The way Peter touched him, caressed him gently before he inflicted some new injury, made his heart sing. The way he verbally and physically enforced his claim felt final and binding. Wade would never be able to call another person ‘Sir’ after this. Whether Peter wanted him or not, he had ruined that honorific for anyone else. 

Approaching Peter had been filled with apprehension, but he had no regrets. He hadn’t anticipated liking it that much, even with his fear going into it. He had been scared for his life and safety for the first time in a long time. What a novel experience it was to be afraid for his well being, after his countless deaths before. “Oh, ok. I remember now.” After a slight pause, he continued eating.

Peter looked like he was about to bolt, but he didn’t know how to respond to Wade’s calm, nonchalant manner. “And you want me to leave and never talk to you again?”

“Petey-pie, I’m beginning to think you want to leave.”

“No, no. I want to be here if you want me to. I don’t know why you want me here, now that you remember what I did.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he shrugged.

“Wasn’t that bad!” He yelped. “I killed you!”

“So have a lot of people. You aren’t special. I got killed by a deer once. That was one mean fucker. Don’t even get me started on moose!”

“I made you eat your fingers!”

He winced a little. “Yeah that wasn’t my favorite. I’m adding it to my list of soft limits.” Wade actually didn’t mind a little involuntary self-cannibalism. He would have preferred some muscle, though, since his fingers were hard to choke down. That limit was right between watersports and eye trauma. 

“I drank your blood!”

“That’s a kink of mine.” If it wasn’t before, it was now. Especially the blood draining. He’d watched as Peter’s entranced face was painted crimson in massive spurts. He looked even more beautiful framed by the blackness bleeding in around the edges. It was like he was getting sacrificed to a sexy, feral beast and that was absolutely fap material for the next year. 

Peter was suddenly derailed. “Wh-what?”

“Pete. Petey. Peter Peter pumpkin eater.” He put down his food and considered the pitiful boy before him. He was on the verge of tears, the poor dear. “I knew what I was getting into when I interrupted you. Not completely, mind you, because I severely underestimated your creativity. I didn’t mind most of what you did to me. Calling you Sir? That was fucking awesome. All that possessive shit? That’s hard yes territory. In hindsight, it would have been better if we negotiated, but you didn’t violate any of my hard limits.”

Peter’s mouth hung open, unable to comprehend Wade’s attitude. He had been up all night preparing himself for what would happen when Wade woke up. He had agonized over it to the point that he was sure his only option would be to live in a hut in Siberia. He didn’t know what to do with an untraumatized, unfazed Wade. It was almost worse that he liked some of it. He had mapped out a thousand possibilities and outcomes and that was in none of them. 

“You got me into the highest subspace I’ve ever been in, bee tee dubz,” Wade offered like it might ease Peter’s mind. 

“Subspace?”

“My sweet summer child, you have so much to learn. It’s this super rad place your brain goes when a sub gets subby. You get all these chemicals that make you feel all floaty and happy. It can be like a high and, baby boy, you sent me so deep. I’m still kind of there.” He didn’t mention that the more painful it was, the deeper he went. The professional dominants he hired were the meanest, cruelest ones on the market, but they still worked him over like a normal person with normal limits. His pain tolerance was near infinite at this point and Peter had still managed to hurt him to his core. It had bordered on just right and too much the entire time. 

Peter wondered if maybe this subspace was why Wade was so calm. It sounded like he used an altered state to protect himself. “So you aren’t scarred for life?”

“You’ve seen me naked, I’m scarred everywhere.” He gestured to himself with his typical dramatic flair. He must have still been spacey, because he didn’t mind how much skin was on display. 

“Alright, bad question,” he conceded. Wade never could take anything seriously unless he absolutely needed to. “I haven’t given you any more emotional scars than you had yesterday?” He was disgusted with how that came out. It sounded to his own ears like he was dismissing his actions and weaseling out of accountability. 

“Nah, just a few more kinks.” His smile fell and he tried to get his friend to make eye contact for the sake of sincerity. “I’m serious about this, Peter. I wanted to help you through something and I don’t regret it.”

“It feels wrong. I spent hours thinking about how I’d lose you forever after you woke up. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I should be locked up so I can’t hurt anyone. And now, you, the victim in all this, don’t think anything is wrong!”

“You are a sadist,” he stated obviously and slowly, like it solved something.

“I’m a fucking murderer.” He cast his eyes back down and his voice cracked. 

“You didn’t murder anyone. I’m still here.” He grabbed Peter’s hand and brought it to his chest. “I’m warm, see. Murdered people aren’t warm.” Wade guessed that Peter didn’t realize how his shoulders relaxed as he touched and rubbed Wade’s chest in small circles. “You are a sadist and you want to hurt people. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Peter was convinced that his abuse from last night had Wade speaking nonsense. “There is absolutely something wrong with that.”

“Not if you have someone who wants to be hurt.”

“No one is going to want to be hurt the way I want to hurt them. No one is going to survive the way I want to hurt them,” he whispered. He was already so exposed, it felt now that he was past his heart and digging at his spine. 

“I’m sure you could temper it down if you got it out on the regular. This was years of buildup. You could probably get it out in smaller, less intense doses. Or,” he paused, not sure if he wanted to offer. Their friendship was going to be tenuous after this and he didn’t want to make it worse. Then again, he wouldn’t have many options to discuss this without a hefty layer of plausible deniability. “Or I could be that person.”

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I’m offering, if you want something like that.” He scratched his head, infinitely more aware of his irritated skin. There’s no way Peter would want a scene or a dynamic with him or anything outside of a friendship. Wade was willing to chance it to be as close to Peter as he would allow. Being his punching bag would get him awfully close. “We could talk about limits and safewords and figure out how to make it good. And if it gets crazy, I’ll come back.”

“You would want to do it again?”

“Yeah, yeah. I would.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

Peter couldn’t help but think Wade was being unfair. He had finalized in his mind that he would never have this again. Abusing Wade had brought him to the highest pleasures and now he was tempting him with a chance to taste it again. “I’ll have to think about it.”

It sounded like rejection to Wade and he tried to keep his face neutral.

Peter could see the flash of hurt. “I feel so guilty. I don’t know how to deal with you not being angry with me. I feel like I need to make it right like, amends or something.”

He didn’t know how to fix that, either. He put on a massive, shiteating grin and sidled up a little closer to Peter. “I’m not mad, but I could be less mad than not at all if you gave me a blowjob,” he joked. 

What happened next was not clear. He was still a little hazy, so he wasn’t ready for the way everything happened all at once. 

Peter had silently agreed that giving Wade a blowjob would lighten his conscience, and had ripped aside blankets and underwear to get at his dick. His mouth was on him before Wade could straighten out this obvious misunderstanding.

If Wade’s brainpower had been assigned anywhere but where he disappeared into Peter’s mouth, he would have jumped away and told him he didn’t need to do that. It was sweet, but he didn’t need sexual favors to fix a nonexistent issue. It would be taking advantage of a distraught and confused Peter to let him do this.

He couldn’t be a gentleman, though, as much as he tried to be these days. Spiderman, Peter Parker, sweet nerdy little thing was on his knees. For Wade. He was shoving Wade down his throat and choking on him. His eyes were watery and his breathing was haggard as he pushed his untrained throat. Every cell in his body was focused on giving Wade pleasure. There was no finesse or skill in his technique, but his enthusiasm was convincing. He didn’t open his mouth enough to keep his teeth from scraping, which made Wade drool a little. Wade always liked his pleasure with some pain. Peter swallowed him down and slobbered all over him like his salvation rested at the bottom of his dick.

The sights, the sounds, heat, it was all too much. Wade bit his arm as he silently came down his Peter’s throat. 

When his brain came back online, he asked, “Was that your first time doing that?”

Peter blushed self consciously and wiped the drool off with the back of his hand. “That bad?”

“No, it was pretty great.” It was an understatement, but he was too blissed out for eloquence. 

The orgasm gave him a new perspective on the situation. There was no way he could let Peter refuse to play with him again. Wade was ruined for anyone else after that. How could he hire another dominant if they aren’t able to make him hurt like he needs to be hurt? How can he watch Peter get pent up and reclusive again, struggling with his devastating urges, when Wade could take it? No one would ever be able to do what Wade could for Peter. 

He tried to think about a scenerio where Peter found a different partner. Peter would have to be soft and gentle to mortal bodies. They would never be able to experience all of Peter’s delicious depravity. His blossoming sadism was wasted on them. Wade was Peter’s only option, and he was not taking input on the issue, thank you very much. 

They’d have to work past Peter’s misplaced remorse and sort out his feelings. Oh yes, this was going to happen again. He didn’t know what form their relationship would take, but he knew it would be good. 

“You were so sweet to me. Thank you, Sir,” he teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fucked up concept! It crawled out of my very soul and demanded to be written. I have paid my pound of flesh. 
> 
> I have a plot bunny for a sequel involving Peter trying to explain this to Tony and Clint, some scene negotiation, and knife play. Let me know if you want to see it, or if you have something specific you want to see.


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